The air inside the workshop was heavy with the metallic tang of cooling electronics and the suffocating presence of armed men. Zeta stood trembling, his hands still raised toward the ceiling, his entire frame vibrating with a carefully calculated tremor. Vane took another step forward, his boot crunching on a piece of shattered glass that had fallen from the ceiling during the breach. The detective kept his pistol leveled directly at Zeta’s chest, his eyes narrowed into cold, calculating slits. The soldiers held their positions, their armor making the room feel impossibly small and claustrophobic.
"You look like a man who is about to break, Zeta," Vane remarked, his voice a low, gravelly drone that echoed off the metal walls. "But I have seen people like you before. You play the part of
